


lean on me

by canistakahari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles spend Christmas Eve snowed in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lean on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).



> Merry Christmas. I threw this at daunt's inbox, and then she insisted I share it. <3

An almighty storm hits them on December the 24th, dumping six inches of thick, wet snow on Beacon Hills over the course of just a couple of hours. 

It's packing snow, perfect for snowballs and forts and snowmen, and it coats every possible surface like frosting on a cake. 

Stiles spends the afternoon rolling a snowball almost as big as he is in the backyard, huffing steam in the cold air. He helps his dad shovel the walk before he has to leave for work, and then after dinner, Melissa turns up with Scott. Opening the door, Stiles finds the two of them on the doorstep in the swirling snow, Scott all bundled up, peering between the brim of his hat and the top of his scarf. 

"Dude," says Stiles, trying not to laugh. "It's just some snow, not the next ice age."

Melissa hands Stiles a grocery bag and smiles at him. "I'll be on duty until 6 am, guys. Call me if you need anything." 

She leaves with a wave and Scott watches her go a little anxiously. "I hope she gets there okay," he mutters, kicking at a clump of snow on the front step, his shoulders hunched. "It's snowing a lot." 

"She'll be fine," says Stiles, clapping Scott on the shoulder. "You can call her in half an hour to check in."

Because Stiles's dad is working the night shift as well, Melissa and John decided to allow them a Christmas sleepover instead of leaving them both at loose ends home alone. Melissa's picking Scott up at ass o'clock the next morning after her shift and taking him home for Christmas presents and breakfast and then possibly a nap. 

"I made a blanket fort," says Stiles, as Scott stamps snow off his boots in the foyer. "And dad left us hot chocolate and marshmallows. Do you want to watch Home Alone or take turns playing Mass Effect?" 

"Both," says Scott matter-of-factly, and Stiles grins.

"I like the way you think."

Stiles makes them hot chocolate the way his mom used to make, standing at the stove vigorously stirring the bubbling milk. Stiles's dad just uses hot water. Scott stands in the kitchen in his sock feet, eating giant marshmallows out of the bag Melissa brought, watching Stiles stir. 

They're fifteen. Last week, Stiles was Scott's first kiss, and vice versa. Stiles would be lying if said he wasn't hoping for more tonight. They've got the house to themselves with no parents around for a good twelve hours. 

"Is it almost ready?" asks Scott, breaking the silence. 

"Yeah," says Stiles. "If you're bored, go into the living room and get the present on the couch. That's for you to open now."

Scott raises an eyebrow at him and crams another marshmallow into his mouth, disappearing out the door into the living room. Stiles listens for the crinkle of tearing wrapping paper. 

"Oh my god," says Scott, coming back with the sweater in his arms. "This is terrible. Do I have to wear it?"

"I'm sorry, are you dissing my taste in gaudy Christmas apparel?" demands Stiles. "I picked that out especially for you. Do not even think to tell me that you don't enjoy felted reindeer in Santa hats."

Scott pulls the sweater over his head, shaggy head reappearing through the collar. He looks down at himself and smooths down the bulky front. "It's very festive," he offers kindly, because he's Scott, and Stiles flushes hot with the desire to kiss him again. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns off the stove, grabbing their mugs and pouring out the hot chocolate. He puts three big marshmallows into each one. "It's hideous. As it should be. Don't worry, I have an Ugly Christmas Sweater too."

Taking his mug of hot chocolate happily, Scott takes a slow sip. "So go put it on. Don't leave me hanging, here, dude."

The sweater Stiles bought for himself features a kitten wearing a Christmas sweater. "Sweater-ception," says Scott solemnly, when he sees it. "That is truly revolting. I love it."

They end up in Stiles's blanket fort, propped up by pillows, the TV and X-box dragged to the very limits of cable lengths to reach inside. It's warm and smells like Scott and chocolate inside, and Stiles absently leans his head against Scott's shoulder as he watches him blow apart some geth. 

"This is probably bad for our eyes," mumbles Scott. Stiles had turned off all the lights before they'd crawled into the depths of the fort. 

"Shh," mutters Stiles. "Stop being your mom."

Scott snorts. "Do you want a turn?" 

"Maybe I want to play something else," says Stiles. 

There's a brief lull of sleepy silence and then Scott says, "Dude, if you wanted to make out, why didn't you just say so."

"Because," says Stiles cagily. "Shut up."

Scott shuts off the Xbox and the light from the TV dies, engulfing them in semi-darkness; the lights from the Christmas tree are visible in colourful blurs through the thin material of the blanket. Then Scott shifts against him, his breath warm against Stiles's cheek. "I can't even see your face," complains Stiles. 

"Stop talking," murmurs Scott and his mouth is suddenly right there, right where it's supposed to be, their lips pressing together soft and shy and vaguely unsure. 

"Hey," says Scott, voice hushed. His eyes glint and a sliver of dim light follows the soft curve of his mouth. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," sighs Stiles.


End file.
